Three señoritas came in, one thin, one chubby, and one in between. They started dancing, swirling their skirts with the guitar fella playing a real fast tune. They were something to watch. They showed a lot of leg, hiking up those gay-colored dresses. Never seen no white girl dance like that.
Flaco waved the girls over, and we bought them beers. He was telling them stories. I figured out he was telling about me, about shooting the bandito. They were big-eyed, peering at me in awe.
The thin one, her name was Elvia, talking through Flaco, said she liked my blue eyes. When she saw her first blue-eyed americano she thought they could see clearer than Mexes with dark eyes. We had a good laugh on that. We made up the girls some rollies.
Flaco had me tell them chiquitas about a time I hunted a puma. I’d told it to him and Gent one night out monitoring.
Elvia started talking, and Flaco told her story. “She was at her cousin’s farm. He had strips of meat cooking on the fire, and he want her to taste it. She ask what it is, and he say puma, told her to eat it.”
“Puma!” I said. “I ain’t heard of no one ever eating puma.”
Elvia laughed and said something else.
“She eat it, and it not bad. Her cousin say it not puma…”
“¡Es gato!” Elvia smiled with her wide mouth.
“Cat! ¿Comiste gato? Well, I be dragged through a cactus patch.”
“¿Quieres ir a una sala?” Elvia’s eyes narrowed at me.
“She ask if you wanna go to room?”
I raised my eyebrows at Flaco.
“Just nod your head, tonto. She want to take you through la puerta negra al cielo.”
I knew tonto meant fool; ol’ Pancho had called me that enough. I didn’t know the rest. “What?”
“The black gate to heaven. Or hell,” he added.
Sometimes a man needs a woman’s touch. I went with her. Flaco kept the other two for his ownself.
To make a short story shorter, nothing happened. It was kind of mortifying. It just didn’t feel right. She looked real good when she shucked off that blue dress, big jugs and a hairy pussy, but… I don’t know. I liked and wanted her, and then didn’t want her. She didn’t let it bother her none. I paid her anyways. I think she was telling me to come back sometime. I didn’t wait on Flaco. I headed back to the Double Eagle trying to convince myself it wasn’t because of Marta. I just wasn’t in the mood no longer, too cold or too much beer maybe.
I heard a noise behind me and turned to find Weyland standing in the street. “Don’t get enough of that Mex pussy back at the Dew?” He had a drunk, mean look.
What’s blowing wind up his asshole? “Butt out, Weyland. None your business.”
“I’m making it my business.” His hand dangled by his gun butt. “Some of us don’t cotton to Texicans takin’ up with greasers.”
I marched up to him, covering the half-dozen steps in two heartbeats. “Don’t do nothing stupid, Weyland. You’re too drunk.” Not that I was all that steady my ownself.
He came back with a snappy, “Fuck you, Mex lover!”
“Let’s not do this now, Weyland. We’re too—” His roundhouse slammed into my left jaw staggering me back. His hand reached for his gun.
“Let’s have none of that, boys.” Standing on the sidewalk was Lee, all duded up, even wearing a flowerbed vest. “Lose the guns, boys, then finish your business.”
I dropped mine in the mud, and Weyland pulled his, and it went off with a near blinding bang, twice. I threw myself into him, catching him at waist level, and we hit the ground hard. Grabbing at his gun hand, I found he’d lost it. I jammed a knee into his belly, but he caught me with his own in my balls. I rolled clear of him, giving me seconds to deal with the pain. I whacked my elbow into the side of his head a bunch of times, despite the pain. Wished I’d had that Mex gal. Felt like I’d never partake of that sort of sport no more. He got his hands up to my throat choking me. I kept hammering with my elbow. He finally let go, and I could almost breathe. Now I rammed my knee into his belly, and he stopped struggling. I was glad for that because I was hurting something powerful.
“You boys finished?” said Lee, real easy like.
I tried to get up, but had to sit in the mud. Weyland stayed where he was kind of groaning.
“Get up, shithead.” Lee held Weyland’s gun around its cylinder.
I tried to push myself up. That hurt.
“Not you, dummy. Get up shithead,” booting Weyland in the side. Lee ended up pulling Weyland up. I stayed sitting in the mud wondering if my balls were still in their customary place.
“We ain’t having none of that.” I’d never heard Lee so pissed. “Ain’t no Dew hand pulling on another. I’ll have you took up for intended murder.”
“He’s the troublemaker,” muttered Weyland. “He pulled on me first.”
“Bullshit, Bud didn’t even touch his gun.”
I thought Lee was ready to start whaling on him with the pistol. “You’re fired. You’ve been paid off to the end of the month. I’ll give you your gun back in the morning.”
“That ain’t fair! I—”
“Just get,” said Lee in a voice that woulda scared me if he’d aimed it at me. “Don’t say nothing you can’t unsay.”
Weyland wavered there a moment, and then turned away muttering to himself.
Lee pulled me up. “You able to walk, Bud?”
“Not real fast and don’t ask me to sit no saddle.”
He laughed. “You’ll be fine by morning.” Lee looked back over his shoulder. “He’s nothing but trouble. I shouldna hired him. Meanness like him don’t grow overnight. You seen Slick?”
“He’s at the Double Eagle. Been mugged, boss.”
“Got his watch, didn’t they?”
I looked at him. “Yep. A couple hours ago.”
“One of the whores told me there’s an ol’ boy at the Horseshoe Saloon flashing Slick’s watch, that Dueber with a gold inlaid elk, silver case. She knows that watch.”
“We going to get it back?”
“Some of us are. I don’t think you’re in fighting form.”
»»•««
Musty came out the Horseshoe Saloon. Snorter had taken over Musty’s lover—next gentleman, same lady. “It’s ’em all right. Saw that gouge on the one’s boot heel. Damn big feets.”
“What state they in?” said Lee.
“Oh, they full as blood ticks,” reported Musty with a grin.
Slick yanked the strap off his Colt. “Let’s go get ’em four-flushers.”
“Pull in your horns,” said Lee. “No sense giving that scattergun guard a reason to notch his stock. Need a plan. Wish Lew was here, he’s good at planning.”
Over the swinging doors Musty pointed out the three muggers.
“Well, hell,” said Lee. “I know that old boy, Brownie Jaeger. Works on the Wormwood spread.” He looked thoughtful. Turning to me, “You seen Flaco?”
“He’s visiting heaven…or hell. Don’t expect we be seeing him tonight.”
“You up for this, Bud?”
“Yep. Just can’t run very far.”
“Fine then. No running necessary if this works. You’ll be backup. Musty, get a wiggle-on and fetch that shoeshine boy over yonder.”
»»•««
“What’d ya tell that kid, boss?” asked Slick as the bootblack boy went through the Horseshoe’s swinging doors.
“Gave him a penny to tell them old boys their foreman, Jim Corker, is in an altercation down at the Crystal Palace.”
“He is?” said Musty.
“No, ya idget.”
We were standing in an alley between the Horseshoe and a millinery shop. The Crystal was on the next corner down.
The shoeshine boy came out the swinging doors, nodded, and went to take up a front row seat.
Musty was standing at a hitching rail in front of the millinery. Them three muggers came out of the saloon doors bee-lining for the Crystal. Musty stepped into their path right af
ter they passed our dark alley.
“Outta my way, cowboy,” bawled Jaeger. He talked kind of funny not having no front teeth.
Musty stepped forward. “Friend of mine wanna talk wit’ ya.”
The three stopped, hands on their pistols. “What friend?” asked the brawny punch, confusion in his voice. A moment’s hesitation, exactly what we wanted.
“That one,” said Musty jerking his head to his left.
Slick was standing there, with Lee and Dodger on either side, their pistols leveled. The muggers’ hands went up real fast, like to touch the moon. I was standing behind them ready to move to either side. I swear one them boys swallowed his chaw.
“Let’s one at a time take your guns out real slow and drop them,” ordered Lee.
“I’d like my timepiece back and my earnin’s,” said Slick. “Pronto.”
Slick stepped up to Jaeger holding out his left hand while poking his Colt into the punch’s belly.
“We was jus’—”
“You best keep your mouths shut and fork over the stolen goods,” Lee said bluntly, taking a step closer. I’d been told Lee had a rep’tation among local punches as one to be taken serious.
Jaeger slapped the pocket watch into Slick’s hand.
“Easy wit’ that, it’s a heirloom.”
“How much money they take off you, Slick?”
Slick told Lee.
“I’m thorry, I thpent mos’ of it,” Jeager answered, looking as silly as an old maid what brung a funeral pie to a wedding reception.
“I’m sure y’all split it up,” said Lee. “Give him all you got, Jaeger. Charlie and Patch, you boys make up the difference. Equally, we being all fair here.”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled.
They were real cooperative counting it out, like it was any old business deal. Five cocked pistols go a long ways making folks sensible.
“You got anything else to say, Slick?” asked Lee.
Slick whipped his Colt into the side of Jaeger’s face, sending him staggering. He spit out one of his remaining teeth.
“That all?”
“That’s all,” said Slick.
“Our business here is finished, boys. There’ll be no more words between us, understood? Or do we need to talk to the town marshal?”
“We all good here, thir,” said Jaeger, rubbing his jaw.
“Good, so I don’t need to be talking to Jim Corker neither?”
“No, thir.”
“Say howdy to Jim for me.”
“Yes, thir.”
We watched them head back to the Horseshoe. “Forgive your enemies, but don’t trust them,” muttered Lee. After a piece being real quiet, Lee said, “You boys done good, sticking up for one another. That means something.”
“Thanks, boys,” muttered Slick. “I owes y’all.”
“You bet,” said Lee. “Now let’s head back to the Double Eagle and spend Slick’s new-found fortune.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
We were back at the Dew on Christmas Eve, bruised and tuckered out with a wagonload of supplies and saddlebags full of tall tales. I figured the number of foes faced in fights, the gallons of booze slugged down, the sum of gaming money won and lost, and the number of prairie doves laid, were at least doubled. Musty was so drunk he didn’t know if he’d lost a horse or found a bridle. It all only made the hands staying behind more the ready for their next week’s trip to Del Rio.
We even brought back a new hand Lee hired, Ewart Rosecrans. He didn’t much like being called “Rosey,” but it stuck. Lee knew him from the Thursday spread, a peeler with a rep’tation.
We all crowded into the big house’s front room Christmas morning. Clay’s girls had decorated a cedar tree with paper ring chains, little wooden toy animals, and popcorn strung on strings. They’d lit candles all about the room. The girls led us in a song called Jingle Bells. Doris DeWitt, the older of the two girls at sixteen, had a strong pure voice. Her two years younger sister, little Agnes, normally shy, wasn’t shy about singing.
I’ll tell you, us gravelly-voiced punches gave it our all, but it would of scart the one horse pulling that sleigh. Marta stood beside me laying her head against my arm. Clay gave each hand a leather pouch with a poke of Powhatan tobacco, cigarette papers, and a new-fangled Erie cap-lighter. Mrs. DeWitt and the girls gave everyone a pair of home-knit wool socks or a scarf. Marta got wool gloves and socks. Musty was right, this was a good outfit to work for.
We gave Mrs. DeWitt a silver serving spoon, both the girls little porcelain angels, and Clay an alligator travel bag; come all the way from Louisiana. This all only cost us hands four bits apiece, but the boss and his family surely appreciated it. We gave Gabi a mother-of-pearl hair comb. Back in a hallway I saw Gabi straighten Lee’s necktie, and he gave her a little red paper package.
Lee said in his most grave voice, “Any y’all trying to be sentimental and give me something, you’ll be finding yourself nighthawking for the next two weeks.”
The next morning he found a German Solingen hunting knife on his doorstep at the back house. He couldn’t pin it on anyone and couldn’t set us all as nighthawks.
After a big breakfast with everyone sitting at the plank tables, I took Marta into our room. I gave her the packages with the blue flannel shirt, pants, and hairbrush. She threw her arms around me and cried up a storm for the longest. Dang girl, she choked me all up. Sniffing, she took off her split skirt and pulled on them whipcord pants, tucked them into her socks, and pulled her skirt back on.
Drying her eyes, she gave me a green paper package. Opening it, I found a pair of Mex nickel-plated spurs with twelve-point roundels. I later got out of Flaco that he’d picked them up after she drew a picture and gave him twenty nickels.
I ain’t ever going to think about no painted cats no more. And, I’d been trying to give this girl away. That’ll never happen again. My mama’d always called me a knucklehead fool. Guess she was right for once. I gotta get around to telling Marta she was staying with me for as long as she could tolerate.
That night, well, I felt those urges. I blamed it on that dang Mex prairie dove, bless her heart. Marta was snoring sound asleep. My arm was over her, and I kind of let my hand slip down over her tit. It was firm and round, and I fell to sleep. I drifted out of sleep sometime during the night and recognized Marta was awake too. I could tell by her breathing. Remembering where my hand was, I started to move it. I stopped. Didn’t want her to think I’d done it on purpose. I lay still, trying to breathe like I was sleeping. After a spell, her hand touched mine and slowly eased it down until she stopped at her belly. Her other moved,moved and she slid my hand up under her long johns top. I’d never felt so comfortable and was soon sleeping again.
In the morning, we were still like that. She suddenly pulled my arm down and sat up. When I opened my eyes, she was smilin’. All of a sudden, she nuzzled her face into my neck, kissed me on the lips real fast, and was out of bed like a shot. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it felt agreeable. I rode out to monitor that morning. It’d be three long days before I had another night in. Something to look forward to, coming home to see my woman.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I rode in for supper the day after Christmas. I wanted to say good-bye to the boys heading for Del Rio in the morning. I gave Gent two dollars to pick up a Bedells’ patent game and shell bag. It cost a bunch, but I wanted to give Marta something more. The boys bound for Del Rio sure had their tails up.
I staked out that night near Pinto Creek, the Dew’s south boundary. Flaco was up near the Sheep’s Head, and Dodger was someplace on the Sycamore. That morning Flaco had chased off a couple of Fire Serpents on the Sheep’s Head snout.
I was staying up as long as I could last, keeping my eyes and ears open. Must have been near midnight, and I was taking it slow back to the campsite I’d picked. Two shots rang out to the north. I sawed Cracker around and jammed my spurs into him. Three measured shots. Flaco’s in trouble! I la
shed with my cuarta.
Shots started crackling like popcorn. I crashed through mesquite with branches snapping. I could hear the rumbling rush of cattle.
Guns were cracking. I could see the flashes. There were a lot of cattle in the run. I angled toward the Rio hoping to head them off. There was nothing I could do to turn them, but I meant to get a crack at the raiders. I reached the bluff leading down to the flats this side of the Rio and angled down it taking care. Do no good to take a spill now. The lead cattle were pouring down the bluff’s slope.
Starlight let me see riders cresting the bluff against the sky. I pulled my Winchester, dismounted, and levered in a round. Cattle were coming over steady. I knew the herd they’d stampeded, at least three hundred head.
I saw a raider, but he was over the bluff’s edge too fast and too far away. Then another came over, closer. I followed him down the bluff in my sights. My second shot unhorsed him into the stampede.
A couple of more banditos came over. I wasted some shots and then hit one. The herd was mostly past with a few lagging. I mounted and turned to follow, hoping I could take some shots as they crossed the river. Then I heard more shots, real far away to the northeast. On Cracker, I scrambled up the bluff. I could really hear the far shots now. They were carried by the wind from the ranch house. Marta!
I spurred and lashed Cracker for everything I had. By the time I reached the overlooking ridge top, there were no more shots. I could see a blazing fire among the ranch buildings. I made a dead dash for the house, apologizing to Cracker for the way I was treating him.
More gunfire sounded over toward the Sycamore behind me. I didn’t turn back. I could only think of Marta.
Tearing in, I heard a lot of shouting. The hay shed and the tent behind the bunkhouse were burning. Everyone, even kids, was passing buckets and cans from a water trough to the shed. It looked hopeless as the dry hay had caught. The flames were throwing jumping shadows and light all about. They let the tent burn.
I ran to our feed shed. It was empty. Where is she? I ran to the fire.
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